Author: Jim Hagarty

By Jim Hagarty
Here are a few of the photos taken by my friend and fellow blogger Al Bossence taken on Sunday, July 31 near his home at Bayfield, Ontario, Canada. Al’s blog can be found at thebayfieldbunch.com. He has had more than four million views over the past 10 years. He writes every evening about the ins and outs, ups and downs of life, with a special nod to the RV life of which he and his wife Kelly and their pooch Pheebe are big fans.

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By Jim Hagarty
The local plumber’s shop we have used for decades keeps this stylish little Chevy utility truck from 1954 around for sentiment and promotion. Check out the adjustable sun visor. Turner opened up as a plumber in Stratford in 1951, the same year I was born in Stratford. Bit of serendipity: I did a Google search to see if I could find out what this truck would have sold for in 1954 (can’t find it so far), and was directed to a auto valuation service called the Hagerty Valuation Tool. Hmmmm.

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By Jim Hagarty

We have our share of pub problems here in Canada. Underage kids sneaking in and getting loaded. Bar owners serving drinks to people who are already drunk. Fights breaking out left, right and centre.

But generally, our pub issues are with humans.

Not so in England where they are far too casual about things. Sometimes, for example, they will leave their back door open. And problems have a way of wandering in.

This week, a Shetland pony walked through the back door into a pub and, being thirsty, made directly for some stray beer glasses on the tables which he proceeded to empty. The animal’s name is Mocha and he loves him some beer. He is not a stranger. He also likes apple cider.

The pub owner knows his freeloader well.

“He is not a big drinker, but he does walk around like he’s a bit drunk. But he is very friendly and likes meeting new things and people,” the owner said. He managed to coax Mocha out of the pub using traditional Shetland pony lures like carrots, potato chips and deep-friend pork rinds.

But the other pub patrons and the journalist who wrote the story about Mocha have no heart.

The writer, for example, declared that Mocha better pony up for those drinks. He also actually wrote that he was horsing around too much. And he had the nerve to describe the whole affair as an “unsaddling” incident.

The patrons weren’t much better.

“Perhaps it was only looking for a little ‘horse-pitality’”, they suggested.

“I think it has a sore throat,” said one barfly. “It’s a little hoarse.”

His latest pub crawl was Mocha’s second.

Internet video, documentary and book tour just have to be on their way.

By Jim Hagarty

My wife has this strange way of doing business. Rather than hopping in the car and rushing off to a store to see if they have something she needs, she phones first. Sometimes, she even phones two or three stores and does some price comparisons.

It’s embarrassing.

Worse, it doesn’t make any sense. The proper way is to drive to Store A and wander up and down the aisles, hoping to find the item yourself. When a staff member approaches you to see if you need help, which you obviously do, you reply, “No thanks. Just lookin’.” The minutes tick by and finally, there it is. Eureka! It’s even on sale, but it nags at you. Is it on for less at any of the other stores? Hop in the car and drive around to see.

Store B has it, but it costs more and Store C doesn’t have it, but could order it. All this extra investigating has taken an hour, because you get distracted looking at a lot of stuff you don’t need. During that time, the two items Store A had in stock are now gone, having been on sale. Back you go to Store B to buy what you could have had for a few dollars less an hour before. Gas bills, aggravation have added to the cost.

It doesn’t help to go home to see your wife sitting on the porch with a tea, reading a novel. She even buys stuff over the phone. And the Internet. Bizarre.

Ten years ago, one of the two springs holding up the garage door on our then 40-year-old house broke. Went off like a rocket when it did. Had I been in the garage at the time, l might be telegraphing this column to you from Heaven. The spring was rusty and 40 years old (as I was getting to be myself, at the time).

It was obvious to me that that particular spring, which could obviously not be fixed, was not being manufactured any more. So, for the past 10 years I have had to use Herculean strength to open the door, held up all that time by only one spring. When it closed, it did so with an ominous, blood-curdling bang.

This summer, we were visiting relatives when l watched their 11-year-old son open their old garage door with one hand. “Gee, I wish we could do that,” I exclaimed, and explained my problem to his father, a department store manager.

“Oh, you can still buy those springs,” he said, and told me where to get them. Had he told me where I could pitch a pick axe and strike a motherlode of gold, I could not have been more overcome.

So, I went to the store, and there they were. I bought two of them. New, nicely painted. Fantastic. I rushed them home and ran to the garage to install both of them, reasoning that if the first one blew apart 10 years ago, the second one might go at any moment and crack me in the bean.

Alas, when I went to replace the one that had already burst, it was to find that a small piece onto which the spring is to be fastened, was also gone. Back to the store. I tried to explain what I needed to the three employees who wanted so badly to help but it was like I was asking directions on a street corner in Madrid. I got desperate. Like one of those distraught pet owners searching far and wide for Fluffy, I took a picture of the part I was missing and began circulating it to garage door stores, knowing full well that I could not get lucky twice. They might still make springs for my now-50-year-old door, but I just knew you couldn’t still get the little gizmo I needed.

At my second stop, the store owner took one look at my picture of Fluffy, er, the gizmo, and said, “Hang on.” He went back in his shop and I heard a lot of banging. Soon, he reappeared with the part. My jaw dropped. “How much?” I asked him, resisting the urge to hug him tightly. “Your lucky day,” he said. “Just take it.”

Three thousand, 600 and 50 days after my garage door broke, I was back in business. Saturday, I spent most of the afternoon opening and closing the door. With one finger. Others were off whooping it up at a rock concert (which I could easily hear in my garage). I was playing with my door. And having a better time than they were.

The only cloud is knowing that the same day the spring broke in 1996, my wife would have phoned around, found the springs, phoned around and found the gizmo, and had it all up and going the next day. And sat on the porch to read her novel.

However, she would never have known the joy only 10 years of waiting can deliver.

I feel sorry for her.

By Jim Hagarty
Renowned Terrible Limericker

I once built a big high fence
Out of cedar. That makes no sense.
And I’d build another,
But I’ll tell you brother,
It costs too many pounds and pence.

By Jim Hagarty
I am not sure what year this Thunderbird is, but it is a beauty. Probably a ’57 or ’58, judging by the licence plate that harkens back to Buddy Holly’s hit song Peggy Sue. The early T-Birds were the best ones. As did other car manufacturers at the time, Ford couldn’t resist the urge to take its gem and make it bigger and more sedan-like and uglier with every passing year. The public finally lost interest and the car disappeared. But when they brought it back for a few years a while back, Ford did a remarkable job of ignoring all those hideous versions it made and came close to reproducing the original. Unfortunately, it didn’t survive the brutal recession of almost 10 years ago now. I took these photos at a car show in my hometown this week.

By Jim Hagarty
2006

If I nod off in the middle of this, just tuck me in, turn off the light and shut the door. l’ll be fine in the morning.

You see, I have been suffering my annual bout of over-awareness in a month that has been asking an awful lot of someone with such a short attention span. Fortunately, May is Mental Health Month, so my chances for recovery are looking better than if this had happened, say, in July.

The first week of this month, of course, was Education Week in Ontario. I just learned about it the other day and while it was nice to see a special week set aside for education, it seems to me I’ve endured about 2,875 Education Weeks in my life so far, as I am not able to remember a week that went by when I didn’t learn something whether I wanted to or not.

May 6 was International No Diet Day. Again, a bit redundant, unless you call a bad diet, a diet. Last week was National Emergency Preparedness Week but I have got to be honest with you: I was not prepared for it. National Road Safety Week started on Tuesday but I am having trouble seeing the point. I have never yet seen a road that wasn’t safe – but I have seen a lot of unsafe drivers hurtling along on top of them.

Monday was International Day of Families, a day actually decreed by the United Nations as a way to recognize the importance of families. And while they are supremely important, it is fitting that a day devoted to families falls within a month devoted to mental health. Take that however you like.

I got some “rotten news” last week (that was the clever headline on top of the press release) when I was notified that May 7-13 is International Compost Awareness Week. I almost broke down when I learned about it. Just about came apart, in fact. (Should be a Bad Puns Day). The reality is, most of the time, it is not too hard to be aware of my composters as they tend to send up a very aromatic signal that they’re there. I know, I know: If they smell, you’re doin’ it wrong, but I’m long past the fun of turning the piles, adding layers of leaves, sprinkling in some soil, tossing in a handful of earthworms. Now if I can just convince the many mice who have built apartments and streets in my composters that I have not purposely accumulated organic material to satisfy their needs for habitation, I will count myself lucky.

Last week was Nursing Week across Canada and l’m glad it was. Some of my favourite people in the world have been nurses including the ones who helped me arrive on the scene. But I admit to a bit of jealousy mixed in with all this gratitude.

When will somebody institute a Journalism Week? A week to mark the importance of reporters? National Editors’ Day. Columnists’ Month in Ontario. C’mon!!!!

This is not a good thing for me to dwell on as it tends to get me going but fortunately, May is Blood Pressure Month. And Saturday was World Hypertension Day, so l hope that’ll calm the nerves.

I might head out in a canoe for a little natural sedation but of course next week is National Safe Boating Awareness Week so l’d have to spend my time making sure l didn’t end up doing handstands on the bottom of the creek.

The Canadian Landmine Foundation will be launching the Peacekeepers Day Yard Sale campaign this weekend, leading up to Peacekeepers Day on Aug. 9. Some of the yard sales I’ve been to could use a peacekeeper or two to separate those thrifty shoppers tussling over that awesome green velvet Elvis.

Maybe what we really need is a Don’t Be Cruel Day.

By Jim Hagarty
Renowned Terrible Limericker

We have a centipede named Tut.
He is missing his 44th foot.
Not sure why it’s gone
But we never let on.
He walks with a limp but so what.